


where there is love

by sakasamasa



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, silly one shot turned angsty character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-06 06:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18382502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakasamasa/pseuds/sakasamasa
Summary: Noctis has incredibly bad taste in men and the others have to put up with it.





	1. ubi amor

“A man of no consequence.”

Said self-proclaimed man of no consequence theatrically spreads his arms wide and then turns to saunter off the boardwalk back towards the shore. It’s quiet for a bit, everyone taking a moment to try and process what the fuck just happened. Gladio looks down, and the coin nestled in his palm glimmers idly.

“Well that was uh…” Prompto trails off.

Gladio hums in agreement. He turns to Noct, and Noct looks... smitten? Mystified? He could probably find a dozen adjectives in the novel he’s been reading to describe the look on the prince’s face and every single one of them instils a feeling of dread in him. He’s seen that look before; he’s no stranger to the looks he’s given when others think he isn’t looking right back. Hell, Noct’s unknowingly been on the receiving end of ogling like that more often than he’d think, Gladio having to bear with it and act like his charge wasn’t being sized up by everyone and everything all the while. Now Noct was the one giving someone the _eyes_ , and Gladio isn’t sure if he’s supposed to ignore it or take direct action. It’s after some pondering that he decides he won’t butt into Noct’s private affairs if it doesn’t compromise the mission. He also decides that he won’t dwell on Noct’s questionable taste in men. At least not too much. They start heading further into the Quay to check if the boats really wouldn’t _take them forth_ , like the man said. Prompto snickers as they pass by the restaurant.

“Okay, but what the heck was up with the guy’s outfit?”

“Rather peculiar indeed,” Ignis agrees, “especially in weather as fine as this.”

“Yeah,” Noct agrees lightly, but his tone doesn’t really reflect any kind of veiled aversion like the others’. Gladio tells himself he’s imagining it. Thinks it’s better for his own peace of mind that he does.

They arrive at the mooring. No boats. Some two-bit reporter who sends them on a literal treasure hunt in exchange for information. The sun sets and the day proceeds like any other, and soon whatever transpired on that pier is far, far behind.

 

-/-

 

“What if I ride with you?”

Ignis’ brows shoot up, but he knows Noctis isn’t looking at him now so the prince can’t see the distress currently enfolding behind his spectacles. To his contained horror the formerly mysterious stranger Ardyn (curiously-void-of-a-last-name) only smiles and, unfortunately, plays into Noctis’ equally unfortunate quip.

“You might find the cab fare to be more than you bargained for,” he says and chuckles, though there’s a telling fire in his eyes that almost has Ignis’ mouth dropping open in added consternation. It’s a sultry sort of mischief directed solely at Noctis, who Ignis can see smiling back in a rather coquettish way, and _where on Eos did he learn to do that?_

 _Oh, dearest Astrals above and wretched Infernian below_. Ignis can practically pinpoint the exact moment the nature of their exchange had taken a turn for theimproperly flirtatious, and while he’s eager to cut in and put a concise stop to this horrible display, Ardyn beats him to it. The man announces it’s best they leave, lest they lose daylight, and Ignis is somewhat grateful for it. He can’t bear to look at Noctis for the moment, so he shoots a glance in Gladio’s direction. Gladio nods rather grimly and quietly wedges himself between the two benefactors of potential chaos, though the way he openly glares at Ardyn while doing it detracts from the overall subtlety of his movements. Ardyn merely smiles a polite little smile, and Ignis takes a deep breath to collect himself. They have a mission to accomplish, and it wouldn’t do to let this ghastly occurrence meddle with his composure.

It’s much, much later when Ignis finally gets a chance to confront the prince about it. Night has fallen, and without the rush of nearby traffic or the thrum of conversation, the rest stop is eerily quiet. They’re a few steps removed from the caravan, out of sight and earshot. Noctis looks rather uncomfortable at having been pulled aside so suddenly by his advisor. Rightfully so, Ignis wagers, but he also considers he himself is within his own rights when he confronts the other on the matter of his undue behaviour towards their guest.

“Do you perhaps know why I asked to speak privately?” He asks.

“Uh, no? What’s this about?”

“Noctis,” Ignis sighs, and he can see his charge stiffen at the mention of his name.

“While you’re old enough and more than capable of making your own decisions, I have to advise against seeking any deeper relations with this Ardyn.”

“Wh- What?” Noctis’ eyes widen as he sputters a bit, “Six, Iggy.”

“Of course, you are free to do as you see fit, but do keep in mind that we are only sparingly familiar with this individual and-“

“No! wait,” Noctis nearly exclaims, “It’s not like that. Really.”

“It isn’t?”

“I’m not trying to get with him. Plus, that stunt he pulled with Prompto after dinner? Not cool, even if he apologised.”

“…Then your conversation back in Lestallum?”

“That, uh,” Noctis utters somewhat timidly, “That was just... I was just trying to rile him up. Didn’t think he’d react the way he did.”

“I see.”

Ignis' roiling mind quietens at last. Nevertheless, it couldn’t hurt to make sure that his charge wasn’t about to try and kindle the favour of a much older, complete and utterly suspicious stranger.

“So I’m assuming you wouldn’t consider pursuing him if he shows interest?”

Noctis pauses long enough for Ignis to assume the worst.

“No, Igs,” he says then with finality, “Don’t worry about it.”

Ignis feels some relief, though he vows that he'll keeping a watchful eye on Noctis whenever their guest was around for the time being.

“Provided I have your word on this, I won’t. Thank you for your honesty.”

“Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

“Alright. Make sure to get some rest. There’s no telling what tomorrow will bring.”

Noctis hums and nods, but there’s an underlying current of nervousness as he fidgets with his hands. He looks tired, much in need of a hot shower, a calming cup of tea and a warm bed. Ignis would see to that. He would also see to it that their guest takes the bunk the furthest away from Noctis, but that’s one part of the plan he’ll keep undisclosed.

“We’ll be there with you, Noct. Every step of the way,” he says, putting a hand on the prince’s shoulder. Noctis cracks a fleeting smile at him.

“Thanks, Iggy.”

 

-/-

 

Noct looks to the side, then checks to see if Gladio and Ignis are still out of earshot. They are, have been and they don’t seem like they’re going to leave the market stall they’ve been hovering over for the past five minutes anytime soon.

“Well,” he starts, secretively leaning over in a way that has Prompto doing the same to listen, “he’s kinda hot.”

Prompto promptly blanches, putting a hand over his mouth to stop himself from yelping out his surprise. _Okay_ , he tells himself, maybe he should’ve seen this coming. Maybe he could’ve guessed that, when not-sober Noct had told him in pinky-promised confidence all those years ago how his tastes in men tended to steer towards the older variety that said category could very well include, say, the actual -freaking- chancellor of Niflheim annex Ardyn -freaking- Izunia. But still. Of all the guys Noct could set his sights on, it just had to be that weirdo. Seriously? Prompto’s actually offended for a second. Like, on principle.

But Noct looks kinda upset, brows furrowing with embarrassment and indignation.

“Please say something.”

“No, yeah,” Prompto squeaks, “I just- Really, Noct?”

“I can’t help it!”

“Dude, gross- No, I mean-“

“Oh,” Noct cuts in, his voice somewhere between cynical and honest at the same time, “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”

His expression turns sulky in a ‘kicked puppy’ way that makes Prompto’s heart ache. He flails about a bit, waving his hands as if they could wave away his little verbal fuckup.

“ _Nonononono_ , dude! It’s fine.”

“Apparently not.”

“Noct, hey. I’m sorry I reacted that way, that was way outta line.”

On his honour as a hobbyist photographer and a raging bisexual, he prides himself on being able to visually appraise and appreciate folks from all walks of life, no matter their quirks or deviations from conventional beauty. Now, he guesses he’ll have to hold maroon-haired middle-aged men up to those standards as well. It’s only fair, really. Prompto huffs in defeat.

“Okay, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re not wrong.”

“What?” At least the puppy-look disappears from Noct’s face at that, but now it’s replaced by some weirdly hopeful enthusiasm. _Why are you like this,_ Prompto thinks, but for fear of making Noct feel bad again he keeps it to himself.

“Don’t make me say it out loud, man.”

“Wait, no,” Noct presses, “so you agree?”

Prompto pauses to steel himself for what he’s about to say.

“Yeah. Ardyn’s- the guy’s pretty h- attractive. Above average.”

Noct quirks a brow.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, I’m dead serious. Cross my heart ’n all that. It’s just- the actual person, you know?”

Noct laughs and Prompto gives himself a mental pat on the back. Well, maybe he gives himself a mental high-five and decides he might buy himself something fizzy and preferably berry-flavoured to celebrate after this. Mission complete: do not make best friend upset by being a jerk to him about his feelings. Hooray!

“No getting around that, yeah,” Noct agrees, and settles down a bit. “Sorry for going all ‘TMI’ on you.”

“Bro, it’s fine. Really.”

Noct then grins in a I’m-about-to-do-slash-say-something-dicey way. Prompto can’t stop him in time and he curses the other for being so goddamn temperamental.

“His voice is really fucking sexy, though,” his best friend announces proudly.

Prompto claps his hands over his ears, but it’s too late.

“Too! Much! Information!”

“What is?” Gladio’s heading their way, packed plastic bags and an equally decked out Ignis in tow.

“Nothing!” Prompto wails. Noct just laughs and _just you watch, Noct_. Prompto shoots a glare at his best friend who's too busy deflecting Gladio's curiosity to see it.  _Next time you’re going fishing,_ _I’m kicking your ass right into the water_.


	2. ibi dolor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay. this turned into an absolute beast after i decided to rework it and now my fingers are bleeding lmao enjoy
> 
> //i slipped in a few references to some (super wonderful) fics in this fandom :') if u recognize them u get a metaphysical finger guns from yours truly!

“Or perhaps you could simply sit back and enjoy the ride. You needn’t worry: you’re in good hands with me.”

The Imperial Chancellor takes a perfunctory bow and, with a flutter of his scarves and coat, turns to exit the loading bay. The two MT’s that trail his steps abruptly halt by the sliding door, moving to stand guard by either side and affix their glaring red eyes onto the four newcomers. _In good hands_ , the man said. Ignis can’t help but doubt his words, and one look at his companions tells him they are of a like mind, their shoulders tense and their gazes wary.

He first assesses the others, looking for any lingering injuries from the Archaean’s rousing. He then surveys the area. There are two more MT’s guarding the control panel to the hold, as though the Chancellor really supposed one of them would try to flee a moving aircraft at least a thousand feet from ground level. Frankly, the notion is insulting, so Ignis tries not to dwell on it as he keeps a keen eye on the time and his companions. It’s then, sitting with the others on the cold, plated flooring, that he notices Noctis’ fidgeting hands and the way his leg restlessly bounces up and down. It’s only natural they should all feel uneasy, considering the circumstances, but Noctis looks particularly upset. Ignis leans in and places a careful hand on the prince’s shoulder, who looks up in surprise as he’s pulled from his musings.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asks.

Noctis pulls a foul face.

“I’m fine,” he mutters rather quietly. He clearly doesn’t want the others to get involved, but both Gladio and Prompto both look up at his tone. Ignis soundlessly gestures at them, and thankfully they both follow. Prompto engages in a conversation with Gladio to keep them from eavesdropping while Ignis turns back to his brooding charge.

“Talk to me. Please.”

It takes Noctis a moment. Ignis waits patiently.

“It’s just- I…,” Noctis begins to stammer. He looks as though he’s at war with himself, brows furrowed and lips pursed. “Damn it.”

“It’s alright. What are you feeling?”

“I’m mad. I’m mad at myself, at _him_ …”

“At yourself?”

“I don’t know, I just- I feel so stupid for trusting him. He’s a fucking _Nif_ , Igs. The Imperial Chancellor to the Emperor. I should’ve- should’ve been more careful…”

“ _We_ should’ve been more careful, Noct,” Ignis corrects, “Nevertheless, when we agreed to the man’s help, it was more out of necessity than it was a decision made of our own accord. We wouldn’t’ve been able to enter the Disc without his assistance, and it is not out of free will that we’re here on this aircraft.”

“I know that, it’s just- fuck,” Noctis pauses. He raises his hand to scratch at the back of his neck, like he often does when he’s embarrassed.

“What I said to him, you know. Back there. That was stupid of me, to- to…”

“It’s alright. Noct. You didn’t know.”

“Yeah, but…”

Ignis gives Noct’s shoulder an assuring squeeze before letting go.

“Nobody thinks less of you for it.”

Noctis smiles somewhat brokenly, and Ignis can only hope he’s managed to lay the worst of his charge’s worries to rest. He also -more privately- surmises that Noctis will be less eager to seek out the Chancellor’s attention now that the man’s identity was revealed, which was arguably one silver lining to this rather unpleasant turn of events. Now, with a substantially more relaxed prince and his own mind at ease, Ignis counts the minutes that pass before he can start worrying about where the aircraft was really headed.

It’s a few minutes later that Prompto intrudes into the arguably peaceful droning hum of the dropship.

“Guys, uh. Think they got bathrooms here?”

“Shiva’s ice, Prom. Really? Now?” Noctis scoffs, and Ignis can’t deny his contentment at his charge’s newfound liveliness.

“Ask the MT’s,” Gladio chuckles, clearly amused.

“Yeah,” Prompto shoots back, “No way I’m going near those things.”

“Or you could ask our “man of no consequence.”

At that, Prompto blanches. He throws his hands up in defeat, and hushed laughter rings out through the loading bay.

“Yeah. I’ll just wait.”

 

-/-

 

Like watching a gruesome car crash or a particularly gory scene in a horror movie, it’s pure shock that keeps Prompto from looking away from the spectacle he’s been made to witness. He was just looking for a photo spot a few steps away from the ruins; the sunset reflected in the waters of the Vesperpool would make for some very nice shots. In hindsight he wishes he could’ve been granted a sign, divine or otherwise, that would prepare him for turning a particularly woody corner and seeing his best friend pinning the Chancellor of Niflheim against the man’s midlife crisis mobile and _kissing him_. For a total of one second, Prompto stands there and wonders if he isn’t actually dreaming. He desperately wants to scream, and it takes all of his willpower and Royal Crownsguard training to quietly jump back from whence he came and hide before he can be spotted. Now he sits hunched in a patch of swampy undergrowth and contemplates his life and the fate of this world. He wants to pull Noct away from the other and jostle him, maybe smack him upside the head so many times that his brain short-circuits and reboots as someone who doesn’t feel so violently attracted to walking feather dusters with sleazy personalities. _Oh, God_. He buries his face in his hands, but all he can see is _that_ , so he opens his eyes and looks at the orange hued sky above, lilac clouds dotting the vast, empty expanse. It’s kind of romantic, actually. Prompto’s pretty sure he’s mentally gone through almost every single stage of grief, so he should be reaching acceptance by now.

Okay, so this isn’t some swamp-induced fever dream. This is real.

He finds it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with the fact that his best friend, the crown prince of _Lucis_ and maker of horrible life decisions, is in the middle of getting it on with the Imperial Chancellor… of _Niflheim_.

Suddenly he hears a low voice cutting through both the serene quietude of his surroundings and the high-pitched yelling in his head. There’s an undeniable morbid curiosity in him that tempts him into staying instead of booking it immediately like he should. It takes a few seconds for his resolve and dignity to crumble. He utters a quiet apology to Noct and shifts, turning his head so he can peek at the two. When he strains his hearing, he can catch what they’re saying.

“You don’t like it?” Noct asks.

“Far from it, Your Highness, but I don’t suppose it’d be rude of me to think that this attention, however welcome, is rather unprecedented.”

“Come on, don’t act like you haven’t been checking me out.”

Prompto tries desperately to dial back and place what the heck Noct was talking about, but the conversation’s still going and he can’t keep his thoughts where they are. Ardyn laughs lightly.

“Why, whatever could you possibly be referring to?”

“God, shut up,” Noct says it, but ultimately he’s the one that does so for the other. Despite the biting curiosity that has him playing witness, Prompto still instinctively covers his eyes. It’s from the gaps between his fingers that he notices how Noct has to stand on his toes to reach the other and how Ardyn’s hand lowers to Noct’s hip as their exchange grows more heated. Yeah, okay, nope. Prompto really has to turn away now, for the sake of his sanity. His innocence is already beyond saving at this point. He thinks he hears Noct groan softly into the other’s mouth, and if his face wasn’t already on fire, it sure as fuck is now.

“Noctis,” when Ardyn breaks away his voice is somewhat breathless. Prompto feels like he’s going to explode. Or implode. Whatever.

“Loathe though I am to cut this short, I propose that we stop here.”

“Fuck- Why?”

“Well. We wouldn’t want your trusted companions being privy to this… clandestine venture, do we?”

Prompto shoots upright at that, his already racing heart beating even faster. Did Ardyn know he was there? What the fuck. _What the fuck_. While he should be doing the exact opposite, he ever so slightly turns and glances back to the two. Their hands are still on each other. Ardyn’s gaze is fixed on Noct- no indication of him actually knowing Prompto was where he was currently hiding.

“What? They’re not around,” Noct tries, “Please, I-“

“My dear,” Ardyn utters softly, and Prompto feels dizzy, “I insist.”

There’s a somewhat tense silence that follows with Noct looking both confused and annoyed before he gives in.

“Fine.”

“Oh, don’t pout.”

“I’m not.”

It’s weird, Prompto muses over the buzzing of a million bees in his brain, how comfortable they sound with each other.

“Not to worry, Your Highness…”

Ardyn leans in and whispers something. Prompto can’t hear it, and he decides that maybe it’s for the best that he can’t. Noctis doesn’t seem any less sulky at whatever the other said, but he slowly lets go.

“On you go,” Ardyn says, noticeably louder now. “We both have matters that require our undivided attention. Time and tide wait for no man; certainly not for us.”

Prompto thinks he can see Noct crack a pained smile at that, and for a moment his heart stops racing to hurt just a little bit.

It’s probably his princely arrogance that has Noct stubbornly leaning in to give Ardyn a kiss on the cheek, and it goes by so fast that Prompto can’t even think to cover his eyes this time. For all the things that preceded this, Ardyn looks weirdly surprised at the gesture, but he’s schooled his expression by the time Noct pulls away. Before he turns his back on Ardyn, Noct presses his index finger to the other’s chest as if to reprimand the Chancellor of Niflheim.

“You better keep your word.”

“Have I ever done otherwise?”

Somehow, Prompto gets the feeling neither of them actually want to part ways, but Noct is finally able to tear his gaze from the other as he turns to go back to the ruins. Ardyn lingers for a bit, looking like he’s lost in thought, and Prompto realises just how out of place he is here and now. Time to go; at least before the Chancellor could have the chance to pick him right out of his hiding spot, if he’d really known Prompto was there the whole time. He slowly gets up from his aching legs and the patch of probably bug-ridden forestry and, very quietly, turns to start making a beeline back to home base. The clack of a car door and the ensuing rumble of an engine catch his attention and he jumps behind a tree that'd helped keep him hidden. The grinding of wheels on the ground passes, slows and, to Prompto’s spiking horror, stops a few paces away from where he’s standing. The low hum of the engine rings out in the silence. He awaits his impending doom, but it’s after a few agonising seconds that the convertible roars back to life and the growl of its wheels grows gradually distant. It’s when the noise has waned entirely that Prompto slumps against the tree, uncaring about how the bark digs into his back. He makes a sound of lamentation and wonders how he’ll ever face his best friend again. The sun has since crawled beneath the horizon, its light still lingering but not nearly as vibrant.

As Prompto trudges back to the ruins, his boots heavy with a secret he’ll probably have to take to his grave, he regrets not having taken any photos of the Vesperpool at sunset. It probably would’ve been beautiful.

 

-/-

 

It’s 12:44 in the afternoon, August 25, M.E. 763.

Some ten years ago, it would’ve been sunny. The sky would’ve been blue and the sun would’ve been warm, its light reflecting off the glass windowpanes of the skyscrapers looming over them. The former shopping district would’ve been booming, the roads packed with low humming traffic and the streets bustling with the citizens of Insomnia.

Now the skyscrapers are crooked towers of black against a sick, blanketing sky above. The streets are strewn with debris but otherwise empty. Gladio’s boot accidentally meets the torn remains of a years-old newspaper on the asphalt below. The fine print is hardly legible, but the headlines stick out like a bad memory. A memory from a time where the world was everything within Insomnia’s great walls and the peace treaty was a hopeful truth for reconciliation to end a dragged out war. It’s funny in a sad, fucked up kind of way, how little all of that mattered in the end.

Insomnia is quiet, and the irony of its namesake is not lost on him. The city that was once so full of life now seems locked in a state of deep slumber, just like the one who would rule over it. After so long, Gladio can’t help but wonder if either of them would ever wake up, and that the unending night would really just end up being that: unending.

The transmitter clasped to his belt rattles to life, a static beckoning his attention.

_“Squad B. We’ve encountered a swarm at the northern plaza. Requesting backup.”_

“Copy that,” Gladio says into the receiver, “Heading your way.”

He signals the hunters of his squad and they make their way to the next block, the sound of gunfire already echoing through the streets from the distance.

“A swarm, seriously?” One hunter echoes, evident agitation in her tone. “I thought this area was marked safe.”

“No use bitching about it now,” another hunter responds.

The plaza comes into view. The daemon swarm is larger than Gladio anticipated, his surprise echoed by the hissed curse of a hunter at his side.

“Aurelio, Viola,” Gladio says as he turns to them, “You guys hang back and provide support where necessary. Most of B is occupied with the Liches, so the rest: we’re going for the small ones.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

“Stay sharp,” Gladio says, probably to no avail. After so many times, it was easy to grow careless on the battlefield. Negligence could very well be the death of someone today, and he could only hope the others would be there to make up for any slip-ups born from overconfidence. He readies his greatsword and charges into the fray, the other hunters close behind with their weapons at the ready. Soon his surroundings are a flurry of movement and sound, daemonic magic humming lowly beneath it all. Gunshots clatter and voices echo, but all Gladio focuses on is the daemons that bare their teeth and claws at him. His squad easily picks off the dozen-or-so imps that litter the plaza and in no time the swarm is all but wiped out. It doesn’t seem like any of the hunters sustained any serious injuries, either. Gladio almost sheathes his weapon before a sudden crackle reaches his ears. The ground seems to tremble at the sheer amount of daemonic energy that gathers; black, sputtering pools sprouting from stone all around them, effectively entrapping them in the open space.

“More incoming!”

“An ambush?”

“Shit! We’ve got a big one, guys.”

A roar rattles the ground and from the bubbling miasma bursts the hulking form of the Iseultalon. Gladio steels himself and grabs his transmitter to signal the remaining squad a few blocks ahead.

“C, we need backup at the northern plaza ASAP.”

The other hunters seem to erupt in a frenzy at the Iseultalon, but at least they’ve got their weapons ready.

“Astrals-“

“What the fuck is that thing doing here?”

“No way. this isn’t happening-“

“Everyone,” Gladio shouts over the din, “Stay together. Squad B, make an opening; we’ll keep the big one busy.”

Someone from his squad squawks at him.

“Seriously, man?”

“If we scatter,” Gladio barks, “that thing will slaughter all of us in a second. Now shut up and focus on not dying.”

Some hunters are already busy with the smaller daemons that popped up. Pained growls and hisses fill the air.

“This is insane!” One hunter manages to grunt out as she fires another round into an oncoming Lich. Gladio has no time to respond as he closes in on the Iseultalon, its massive form looming over him and the hunters at his side.

“Flank it!” He orders.

Through the rush of noise the staticky rustle of his transmitter is barely heard.

_“This is squad C. We’re being held up by a swarm. Hang in there.”_

Gladio curses as he narrowly avoids being swiped at by a huge claw. The Iseultalon’s getting hit from all sides, but bullets only seem to bounce uselessly off of its outer shell. A particularly hard strike from one of the hunters has the daemon turning his attention away from Gladio, and he uses the opening to his advantage. He moves in towards the creature’s side and embeds his sword deeply into the softer hind leg. It howls and beats its tail in retaliation. Gladio sees it coming, but he isn’t strong or big enough to stop the daemon’s tail from hitting him and it sends him sliding across the ground. The impact has his body reeling, but the pain is drowned out by his thundering heart as he hauls himself up just to see the daemon bearing down on him with soulless eyes. There are hunters shouting at him over the clatter. He readies his sword even as the claw that’s poised to swipe makes it seem miniature in comparison.

There’s a small part in him that doubts in that split second before the daemon strikes. He doubts his survival, though he doesn’t close his eyes and wait for death to take him, either. Glaring into the daemon’s void-like eyes, he braces himself for impact.

Then he counts. He doesn’t really know why he starts, but it’s at three that he notices something’s definitely off.

Four.

The Iseultalon still hasn’t moved, and Gladio would consider the world had frozen if not for the voices of his fellow hunters. Then, in a sudden turn of events, the daemon starts to dissipate, oozing into the black mist it had burst forth from. When Gladio pulls himself to his feet and away, he notices every other daemon in the plaza withering away all the same. For a moment the air seems choked with black dust, but it rises up, soon melting away into darkened skies. It’s an odd sight. The hunters stand with their weapons and shields raised, poised to attack though there's no longer any opposition to fight.

“What just happened?” Someone asks.

“No idea,” Gladio confesses, “but like hell we’re staying to find out.”

The thumping of several boots alerts him to the presence of the remaining squad nearing.

“You guys requested backup?”

“The strangest thing just happened!”

Gladio gets a moment of reprieve as the other hunters meet up. Apparently the swarm blocking the remaining squad’s path had also disappeared suddenly, probably at the same time the plaza was inexplicably cleared of daemons. One hunter checks up on him, but ironically enough it’s her who needs the most medical attention. She’s one of the few; it seems most got out of the half-battle unscathed. Considering what they were up against, Gladio counts it as a blessing.

It’s after the commotion dies down that Gladio proposes to call off the supply raid and head back to where their trucks were parked. They’d go back to home base empty-handed, but he supposes it's a better option than to wait around for the daemons to come back again. One thing's sure: He’d have this area marked unsafe for the foreseeable future.

He’s done checking up with the rest of his crew when he notices an anomaly in the bleak cityscape around him. With the amount of people present, it almost passes him by, but the maroon hair remains ever hard to miss. A lone figure casually leans against a still-standing lamppost by the plaza’s edge, looking for all the world as though he belonged there. He looks to the hunters with vague interest, watching them go about their jobs like a sated cat watching mice. Then his eyes meet Gladio’s, and the droll little smile on his lips turns into a grin. The Accursed unclasps his crossed arms to give him a single, regal wave.

“Sir, we’re ready to move out.”

A hunter’s voice diverts his attention. Gladio falters for a moment, unsure if he should address Ardyn’s presence. When he turns back to see that the unexpected visitor had already taken his leave, he can’t really be surprised; the man was always one for dramatic entrances and exits.

In a moment of clarity he realises Ardyn could’ve very well been the one behind calling off the daemons and, in doing so, saving his life. He wonders why. The man- or rather, monster, had seen fit to let the world plunge into everlasting darkness, to let its innocent people scramble for survival in a world stolen and defiled by daemons. Not once had he set foot out of Insomnia to help those that ailed from Scourge and starvation in the ruins of his desolation. Not once had he intervened when Gladio had to watch his comrades die in these very streets.

No, Ardyn- the Accursed shouldn’t care if he lives or dies, but it’s then that Gladio remembers someone who would.

He swallows his hatred and faces the hunter.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Three squads assembled, they make their way back to the trucks. It’s eerily quiet still, and most of the hushed chatter that succeeds it is about the sudden disappearance of the daemons.

“The little twerps I get, but why did the big one flee? No offence, Amicitia, but that thing was kicking your ass.”

“Didn’t see any of you getting that close to it,” Gladio retorts. “Maybe it’s best that you didn’t; that thing’s no joke.”

“I bet my squad could take him on,” one hunter from the C squad boasts. Another hunter laughs sardonically.

“Yeah, keep that hero complex in your pants, Ulric.”

“Hey! Too soon!”

“It’s been, what, seven years? What about that is ‘too soon’?”

“Lay off, Luke, that’s his boy crush you’re talking about.”

“We almost died, you assholes! Quit joking around.”

Gladio feels a fondness far too similar to the kind he felt when Noct used to bicker with Prompto or Ignis about something entirely inconsequential. He’s glad that, for all that’s changed- all that’s been lost, he still gets to share in something so trivial and yet so dear as childish banter between comrades. These hunters were not Noct, Prompto or Ignis, but there’s both a solace and a sadness to be found in the way he’s reminded of them. He cherishes the feeling.

Maybe someday, they’ll all be back together again. Older, worn by time and hardship but _alive_. Maybe Insomnia could be rebuilt. Maybe the sky could be blue and the light of the sun could be warm; something tangible instead of a distant memory.

 

-/-

 

Noctis’ presence had grown stronger over the years that spanned his crystalline slumber, the slow hymn of an immense power lying dormant as it grew beyond the might of the Astrals themselves. The daemons loathed it- balked in the face of it, but Ardyn had found himself fascinated by that hallowed melody. The Light that should purge the darkness, now so close to waking that he could hear it over the thump of his boots as he traversed the Citadel’s immaculate halls. So close that, when he’d travelled all the way to Galdin on foot out of sheer boredom, he could hear Noctis’ Light-imbued heart beating softly from the pier overlooking Angelgard.

Not long now. Noctis would emerge from that stone prison and march upon Insomnia as a sacrificial lamb to the abattoir. The Accursed and the Chosen would come together and clash like the Kings they never were for a kingdom that never needed them. In the end, Light would prevail or Darkness would consume.

Soon it would all be over, one way or another.

But that is then. Now, Ardyn was far removed from the Citadel and matters of a prophetic nature. Though he’d always fancied himself the indoors type, there were only so many times one could loiter around in Insomnia’s architectural crown jewel before the pristine walls and extravagant finery would fall into the cruel reaches of banality. Even the desolate streets grew tiring after a while, and soon the Accursed had taken to exploring all the nooks and crannies of his self-imposed kingdom to both pass the time and stimulate his senses. He hums a tune as he walks; his car parked somewhere behind. He’d just finished visiting Lestallum -in disguise, of course- and the next stop on this one-person road trip would be the picturesque waters of the Vesperpool. He hadn’t been back here in a good, long while- there wasn’t much appeal in muddy marshes and woodland left untended anyway. The vestiges of humanity seemed to think the same; even now, the landscape was ever without traces of human life. Despite the large, open spaces and no doubt fertile soil, there were no settlements. The hold of daemons on this land was strong. Ardyn sensed their murmurs from deep within the forestry- felt their eyes watching him with trepidation as though he was a predator amidst prey. In a sense, he was, but he wasn't particularly interested in playing the part.

The woodlands of Steyliff Grove had all but swallowed up the ruins it held, nurtured by ancient magic embedded in stone to grow despite the lack of sunlight. Overlooking the dark waters, he’s reminded of an anomalous little occurrence that had transpired not far from here some time ago. He doesn’t keep track of the years, but his mind supplies him the oddly crystal clear image of a lilac sunset beset by the dark shadows of trees. Hidden within that alcove, he’d happened upon the affections of a lonely prince, his dark eyes and unmarred skin more vivid than the waning sun in that moment. The adorably oblivious youth had finally given into his wonderfully ill-fated attraction he’d harboured towards the other, unknowing of its implications. Ardyn wouldn’t deny feeling flattered, but he was more so deeply amused. So amused -and, frankly, surprised at the prince’s boldness- that he’d almost let his carefully moulded mask slip in more ways than one.

It was tempting to laugh at the boy’s pitiful neediness, the sheer humanity the Crystal’s conduit bared as he’d pawed at the other’s clothes in desperate wanting. That the prince should dare to think he had any right to his careless advances, to encroach upon the likes of him with such hauteur. Just as it had been tempting to laugh, it had been painfully tempting to lean in and viciously rip the boy’s pale throat open with his teeth, to watch his eyes grow wide as he writhed and gasped for his insolence.

Following the encounter, Ardyn had let himself indulge in that wonderfully twisted fantasy more often than entirely necessary. Though he needed the boy alive until the very end, the idea of that costly blood on his tongue and hands -those mesmerising eyes frozen in shock, deep crimson on porcelain skin- had the daemons in him _singing_.

Not that Ardyn would let his composure lapse so severely; not before Noctis lay beneath him battered and broken as a King of Kings fallen from grace.

Yet there was something else that fell among the many temptations Ardyn had felt in that moment. Less twisted in nature, left to be forgotten in the recesses of his mind until rudely brought to the surface in this world of ruin. Perhaps it was some inkling of his own humanity that had whispered, amidst the myriad voices of daemons and temptations, that he wanted this as much as Noctis did. He supposes it would be a tad hypocritical to admonish the prince for his desires when he himself found the appreciative, warm touches inviting enough to lose himself in them for the slightest second. In a moment of weakness he let his thoughts and his hands wander to places he’d previously never considered disturbing with his attention. His hands found warmth, the fragile solidity of Noctis’ lean frame in his grasp. His dazedly spiralling mind found a feeling he thought was lost to him.

It was good to feel wanted; to want for another. Ardyn wonders if, in another life, he could’ve availed himself of that feeling just a little more.

Alas. Any feelings of attraction they might’ve had for one another, vulnerably innocent or otherwise, would be rendered null and void the moment they brandished their swords on the final battlefield. Fate had their souls entwined, but what they both might’ve longed for simply could not be, not after all the pain wrought between them. For Noctis, the point of no return had been watching his betrothed meet an untimely end at the Leviathan’s broken altar. It was an act of simple, needless cruelty to plant the seed of hatred in him that would ultimately help guide his blade to Ardyn’s deathless heart.

For Ardyn, loving anyone -Noctis above all- would only ever result in tragedy, and that damning realisation was enough to dissuade him from pursuing whatever fondness dared blossom along the way. They both had their roles to fulfil; something so inconsequential as love was never a luxury afforded to them.

It’s cruel that they should share in such a fate, but Ardyn has had two millennia to accept that this pitiful, dragged out existence was only ever cruel.

He turns his back on the Vesperpool and listens for the Light’s waxing song carrying across the still, inky waters. It doesn’t seem like he’ll ever return here.

Not long now.

Soon it would all be over, one way or another.


End file.
